A mother's dreams
by Funeral Lilies
Summary: James and Lily Potter love each other and their baby, Harry. But Lily fears that her son will never reach adulthood. JamesLily.


Lily Potter never stayed up late. It was a habit, as important as all others in her life; she woke at eight o' clock in the morning, had dinner ready at twelve and served supper at six just as her mother had taught her. James used to help, when he wasn't busy doing something else – for instant, he always made them both tea in the evening, and brought it on a tray to the living room, where Lily would sit in her favorite armchair; resting, waiting for him. As he put the tray down on the table, he tilted his head until their eyes met. It was always the same, and she loved it. His big, sparkling eyes, the smile that appeared on his face as he seemed to be reading her thoughts.

"Your tea, milady." James; the born actor, but she knew he wasn't playing a part as he moved over to kiss her full on the lips. She ended the kiss, reluctantly, stroking his black hair.

"Harry's asleep." James frowned. She knew he thought she was over-protective, knew that he disliked the way she couldn't stop thinking about the baby even when it was sleeping peacefully in its cradle upstairs. _Christ, Lily, it's like your obsessed with him! _

"Harry won't mind", James whispered into her ear, the Seducer in him taking over. She remembered that voice from the night she had lost her virginity, many years ago, and hesitated. No, of course Harry wouldn't mind. 'We silly women', she thought, hoping this anxiety of hers was a thing shared by all mothers on Earth. The boy was such a sweet child; there was intelligence and curiosity in those bright green eyes that made her swell with pride although she would never admit it. Sometimes, as she stood by the cradle watching his small chest heave as he breathed, she thought of him growing up to be a famous wizard. But that was, she imagined, a future every witch in history had seen printed in gold and silver on the faces of their sleeping babies. She would not allow herself to feel disappointed, if he turned out to be less clever, less good-looking, than she'd imagined him to be. She would not scold at him if he came home with his clothes stained with mud or untied shoelaces; she wouldn't dream of rejecting her son if he happened to like boys instead of girls or if he didn't want to study wizardry at all. Lily could see it all in vivid colors before her eyes; she would never let Harry down.

"Lily", said James, his voice almost casual now. "I think it's right on time you take a rest from worrying about our son and start reminding me of why I love you." Lily stared at him, then rose from her seat without looking at her husband. James tried to grab her by the wrist, but she hurried out of the room, up the stairs. James called her name, arms stretched out as if the desperate gesture would soothe her feelings.

She sat down beside the cradle. The room was dark, lit only by a single, hovering candle that gave life to the shadows surrounding her and the boy. Harry had barely moved since she put him to bed a few hours earlier – his tiny hands on the pillow, thumbs lightly kissed by his lips. Lily felt something burst inside; her love for this child, her fear for what might happen if she didn't look after him. Everyone knew Voldemort was out there, hunting, seeking – but only one could tell him where to find the Potters and their little boy. Only one…Lily knew James trusted Peter, that he felt sure the plan would work perfectly. And, sure enough, Peter was an old friend, who'd rather die than betray James – sure enough. Still, Lily was worried, and she couldn't help feeling that she had the right to be. They all loved Harry – she knew they did. Could it be, that she was the only one who feared the Dark Lord's next move? It sure did seem that way. James downstairs, wanting to make love to her tonight just like every night. And she refused, as she always refused him nowadays. Dark shadows outside the windows… She managed to brace herself from pulling Harry out of Dreamland, holding him close, surrender to fear. She wouldn't let it take over; James would get mad at her, and Harry would start to cry. It wouldn't happen – Voldemort would not win. Here, in his absence, he was nothing but a foul fantasy creature from a story she would never frighten her child with. From downstairs, she heard music – soft, smooth chords, delicate fingers stroking the strings of an acoustic guitar. Her love was down there, alone in the darkness – begging her to forgive him by playing a song she had loved ever since he composed it years ago. The melody was sweet and tender; written for her, never heard by anyone else.

Lily finds herself smiling, looking at Harry, the result of her love for the man downstairs. She will go to him now, tell him how lucky she is to wake up by his side every morning, how much she would like Harry to have brothers and sisters in a few years. She will tell James all those things, and the rest will be there, as true as it has always been, in her bright, green eyes.

At that moment, James comes rushing up the stairs, into the bedroom, his eyes wide. Lily is just going to say the words, to tell him she will always love him. Then she, too, hears the sounds from outside, and the loud bang as the front door explodes in a cloud of poisonous, black smoke.


End file.
